Part 3 (2/2)
The physician pointed downwards to the revolver. Then he unfastened once more the dead man's waistcoat, opened his s.h.i.+rt and indicated a small blue mark just over his heart.
”That is how he died,” he said. ”It must have been instantaneous.”
Time seemed to beat out its course in leaden seconds whilst they waited for the superintendent from Scotland Yard. Nigel at first stood still for some moments. From outside came the cheerful but m.u.f.fled roar of the London streets, the hooting of motor horns, the rumbling of wheels, the measured footfall of the pa.s.sing mult.i.tude. A boy went by, whistling; another pa.s.sed, calling hoa.r.s.ely the news from the afternoon papers. A m.u.f.fin man rang his bell, a small boy clattered his stick against the area bailing. The whole world marched on, unmoved and unnoticing. In this sombre apartment alone tragedy reigned in sinister silence. On the sofa, Lord Dorminster, who only half an hour ago had seemed to be in the prime of life and health, lay dead.
Nigel moved towards the writing-table and stood looking at it in wonder.
The code book still remained, but there was not the slightest sign of any ma.n.u.script or paper of any sort. He even searched the drawers of the desk without result. Every trace of Atcheson's dispatch and Lord Dorminster's transcription of it had disappeared!
CHAPTER III
On a certain day some weeks after the adjourned inquest and funeral of Lord Dorminster, Nigel obtained a long-sought-for interview with the Right Honourable Mervin Brown, who had started life as a factory inspector and was now Prime Minister of England. The great man received his visitor with an air of good-natured tolerance.
”Heard of you from Scotland Yard, haven't I, Lord Dorminster?” he said, as he waved him to a seat. ”I gather that you disagreed very strongly with the open verdict which was returned at the inquest upon your uncle?”
”The verdict was absolutely at variance with the facts,” Nigel declared.
”My uncle was murdered, and a secret report of certain doings on the continent, which he was decoding at the time, was stolen.”
”The medical evidence scarcely bears out your statement,” Mr. Mervin Brown pointed out dryly, ”nor have the police been able to discover how any one could have obtained access to the room, or left it, without leaving some trace of their visit behind. Further, there are no indications of a robbery having been attempted.”
”I happen to know more than any one else about this matter,” Nigel urged,--”more, even, than I thought it advisable to mention at the inquest--and I beg you to listen to me, Mr. Mervin Brown. I know that you considered my uncle to be in some respects a crank, because he was far-seeing enough to understand that under the seeming tranquillity abroad there is a universal and deep-seated hatred of this country.”
”I look upon that statement as misleading and untrue,” the Minister declared. ”Your late uncle belonged to that mischievous section of foreign politicians who believed in secret treaties and secret service, and who fostered a state of nervous unrest between countries otherwise disposed to be friendly. We have turned over a new leaf, Lord Dorminster. Our efforts are all directed towards developing an international spirit of friendliness and trust.”
”Utopian but very short-sighted,” Nigel commented. ”If my uncle had lived to finish decoding the report upon which he was engaged, I could have offered you proof not only of the existence of the spirit I speak of, but of certain practical schemes inimical to this country.”
”The papers you speak of have disappeared,” Mr. Mervin Brown observed, with a smile.
”They were taken away by the person who murdered my uncle,” Nigel insisted.
The Right Honourable gentleman nodded.
”Well, you know my views about the affair,” he said. ”I may add that they are confirmed by the police. I am in no way prejudiced, however, and am willing to listen to anything you may have to say which will not take you more than a quarter of an hour,” he added, glancing at the clock upon his table.
”Here goes, then,” Nigel began. ”My uncle was a statesman of the old school who had no faith in the Utopian programme of the present Government of this country. When you abandoned any pretence of a continental secret service, he at his own expense inst.i.tuted a small one of his own. He sent two men out to Germany and one to Russia. The one sent to Russia was the man Sidwell, whose murder in a Petrograd cafe you may have read of. Of the two sent to Germany, one has disappeared, and the other died in hospital, without a doubt poisoned, a few days after he had sent the report to England which was stolen from my uncle's desk.
That report was brought over by Lady Maggie Trent, Lord Dorminster's stepdaughter, who was really the brains of the enterprise and under another name was acting as governess to the children of Herr Essendorf, President of the German Republic. Half an hour before his death, my uncle was decoding this dispatch in his library. I saw him doing it, and I saw the dispatch itself. He told me that so far as he had gone already, it was full of information of the gravest import; that a definite scheme was already being formulated against this country by an absolutely unique and dangerous combination of enemies.”
”Those enemies being?”
Nigel shook his head.
”That I can only surmise,” he replied. ”My uncle had only commenced to decode the dispatch when I last saw him.”
”Then I gather, Lord Dorminster,” the Minister said, ”that you connect your uncle's death directly with the supposed theft of this doc.u.ment?”
”Absolutely!”
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